Julia held me by my hands across her tea table, looking me in the eyes, slowly shaking her head from side to side.

"You've made a real mess of things, darling," she sighed. "But I think Andrew is offering you a way out...or a way further in. You'll never have the sex you need with him. He knows it, and you know it."

I began to sob. She allowed me a minute, then another, before she said, firmly, "Grow up, Elaine. You have an opportunity here to save your marriage, if that is what you want; or to get out of it, if that is what you need." She waited while I regained my composure.

"You led Andrew down a primrose path to marriage, one you should never have walked. One that, had you been honest with yourself about Lisa, about Peter, you never would have chosen. You would never have wanted. You led him to believe you were abused. And you weren't. You may have convinced yourself you were, but you knew better then, and you know better now. Andrew was perfectly suited to soothe you, to calm you, to comfort you. But he was not suited to fuck you. And you need to be fucked. You need a woman to dominate you and a man to take you, to fuck you, to do whatever he wishes with you. Andrew is not that man. He never was, and he never will be. He doesn't understand your sexual depths, and even if he did, he isn't the man to delve into them. He cannot satisfy you, and he knows it. He offers you something else you want, perhaps something you need, and I think that is why you are so perplexed."

She paused. After a few seconds, she released my hands and smiled. "Your husband is offering you a way to have what you want. To have what you need." She stopped to let that sink in. "To have the comfort and stability of your marriage, and the sex you so desperately need. But the two of you have to work it out together."

I knew she was right. I knew I didn't want to divorce Andrew. And that I didn't want to get the reputation, among people who knew me, of cheating on my husband. Andrew was offering me all of this, but I didn't know how to go about it. It was all so strange. It was something I had never expected, never contemplated. All this was running through my head when I realized that Julia was talking to me again, and that I had not heard a word she said.

"Pardon me, Julia."

"So I have your attention again," she said, smiling but with an intense glow in her crystalline blue eyes. "Stand up, slut."

Before I realized what she had said, I found myself standing before her. "I see you need some assistance, but I think you have made up your mind," she continued. "I am inclined to help you."

I stood still, my insides quivering, feeling feelings I hadn't felt since my days with Lisa. Thinking back on all the times I had driven home after spending the day with Julia and finding myself thoroughly aroused. Time seemed to stop.

"Do you want me to help you, Elaine?" she asked calmly.

"Yes, please, Julia," I heard myself respond.

"Do you need me to help you?"

The same dulcet voice that I had just heard respond to Julia repeated, "Yes, please, Julia," and continued, "I need your help."

"Take off your skirt, darling."

My hands reached behind my back and unzipped my skirt. It fell to the floor, and I stepped free

Time seemed to stand still. I felt as if I were in a trance. Julia stood up and walked around me slowly several times, finally stopping just in front of me, facing me, her eyes fixed glacially on mine. I felt her hand between my legs and her fingers tracing my swollen lips through my panties. "So nice and wet, " she smiled. "Remove them."

I did. I stood before her bare from the waist down...or rather feeling bare from the waist down, excruciatingly aware only of how my white garter belt and sheer stockings framed my bare bottom, my smooth lips, my well-manicured mound; how my three-inch black pumps flattered my pert swimmer's bottom. She was in no hurry. We stood close to each other. I could hear her soft breathing in such contrast to my hoarse panting. "Hands on the table, back arched, step back a bit and spread your legs," she said plainly and clearly, and I did as I was told. Her hand reached around my belly and between my thighs, and the pad of her finger barely touched my tender clit, stayed on her, turning soft, barely there circles. "Don't cum quite yet," she smiled as the tender, excruciating friction continued. And then, as casually as she had started, she stopped and took her seat across the table from me. And waited, watching me. Making it quite obvious she was watching me.

"Alas, poor Andrew," she sighed after what seemed an eternity. "There is a small leather tawse on my bedside table. Go get it and bring it to me." I turned and walked to her bedroom, my bottom wiggling, my hips sashaying...putting on a show for her. Returning with the tawse moments later, I wasn't quite so bold. With every step, I was painfully aware of my exposure, aware that now and for the foreseeable future, my body was hers. I placed the tawse on the table before her and, without being told, resumed my position.

The room echoed with the feral screeches of a mating fisher cat. My stomach burned with an infestation of fire ants. My nipples were clamped with burning irons. A raging flame seared my bottom. Lamentations worthy of Jeremiah wailed through the air. Only several minutes after she had laid three hard blows on each of my buttocks; after she had raised welts at the join of my buttocks and my thighs, at the top of my buttocks, and perfectly evenly between each of the welts on my fat globes was I able to gather myself; did I realize where I was; that the screeching and the wailing had been me.

"Put your panties on, slut," seemed to whisper from the zeitgeist. I found them and put them on. She stopped me from resuming my position. I stood in front of her, and she told me to rub myself, to cum for her. It took barely a minute. My cunt spewed a river of her hot lava into my panties; and another; and another. My body writhed in sinuous ecstasy as wave after wave after excruciatingly beautiful wave of raw, burning heat seethed from my exploding clit through my belly and burst from my hard, aching nipples. Again, she waited.

"Put on your skirt and sit down, darling." The words came from miles away but drew me back to the present. Looking around me, I realized where I was, what I had done. I realized without thinking that Andrew was no longer just my husband; that I had made him my cuckold. I bent over, picked my skirt from the floor and put it on. I returned to my seat, my bottom extremely tender, to a freshly poured cup of tea. Julia was sitting across from me, looking sedate. The only sign of what had just transpired between us was the brilliant pink glow in her cheek. Her steady voice had been droning for some time, or so it seemed to me, when suddenly the words made themselves clear to me.

"Now your work begins. When you get home tonight, you will have to have Andrew move his things to your spare bedroom. You can't cheat on him. You know you can't, so your days of having sex with him are over. You will let him know this. I suggest you find a way to have him pick your panties off the floor and arrange for him to see the welts on your bottom. What he assumes is his business. Don't say anything about today to him other than to tell him he is your cuckold. He will assume you have taken a lover. Make the plans you need to tell his mother and his sister. I don't know if there is anyone else you will need to tell right away, but if there is you must tell them quickly. You will be back here at noon a week from today dressed to meet your primary bull. Once you have met him, you will need to be available to him when he wants you. You won't be able to keep this secret for long, not in this small community."

We sipped our tea as what she said sank in. It was all so clear. I don't think the tiniest detail that her words implied was not, in that moment, completely apparent to me. I found myself thinking about what I should wear to meet him. Only now, several years later, does it appear strange to me that I was determined on a course that would forever change my life. But determined I was and completely clear-eyed. I saw the risks, and they didn't faze me. I couldn't wait to get home. To end the several months of worry, of turmoil, I had endured. The thought never occurred to me that Andrew might make the choice to divorce me. And as it turned out, he didn't.